


Mistletoe

by RedCave



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, gross generalizations of Norse Myths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCave/pseuds/RedCave
Summary: Lance got a hold of some mistletoe. Shiro will thank him later.





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JeanJavert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanJavert/gifts).



> Senpai better notice me now

“I am afraid I don’t understand. What is that?” 

Allura stood before Lance, and while the situation was new, the feeling of confusion tempered with wearied resignation was quite familiar. The paladin in question was leaning against the galley doorway, doing his best to appear nonchalant and missing it by a mile.

“Oh, this?” Lance’s eyelashes fluttered as he glanced up. Above him hung a sprig of greenery with small clusters of white berries. The act of craning his neck caused him to slide further down the doorway. The posture was beginning to look a little painful. “Princess, this is mistletoe. It is part of an ancient Earth holiday tradition”. 

Allura gave him a sharp look. “Does this have anything to do with the tree Hunk insisted on installing in the bridge?” The initial fragrant smell was quite nice. As was the evening they had all spent together decorating it. Coran had taken to the festivities quite well, eager to please the homesick paladins. Lance had managed not to break any of the ornaments Pidge fashioned together, and Hunk had made some of the best cookies Allura had eaten in some time. Even Keith, who became especially withdrawn at the introduction of anything holiday related, helped Shiro carefully wrap a string of lights around the tree. Allura was almost certain she saw a genuine smile on his face as Shiro placed a star at the very top of the tree. 

It should be said, however, that almost as soon as they had finished the festivities, the tree had started the truly horrific process of shedding its needles. Allura was finding them everywhere. All over the floor, in her hair, on the navigation console. Nowhere was safe. 

She shook her head in an attempt to suppress the memory and snapped, “Why is it that Earth holidays must involve plantlife?” 

This was… definitely not the desired reaction, and Lance shrunk a little in response, which only made him slide further down the length of the door. He attempted an explanation. 

“Well, actually, mistletoe is a parasite.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

Mayday, mayday! Lance panicked and doubled down on his seduction techniques. Very carefully, he crossed his left ankle over his right. The arm not currently bearing his entire weight found his hip to jauntily rest there. And eye contact! The most important aspect. His eyes never left hers. Not for a single, agonizing second as he explained with frightening and unnecessary detail, the typical life cycle of the mistletoe plant.

Before Allura could ask the most pressing question on her mind (“Why. Is. It. In. The. Castle?!) Hunk turned the corner and found the pair of them. “Hey! Mistletoe!” His interruption was enough to cause Lance to lose his already unsteady purchase on the doorway. With a yelp Lance fell to a heap on the floor. Allura, on principal, refused to assist, leaving Hunk to help him up. “Sorry, buddy. Just telling Allura about Mistletoe traditions, huh?”

Lance winced as he stood, his spine creaking with the effort of reaching its full and upright position after such abuse. “Something like that,” he hissed.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure.” He leveled a look at Allura, who was looking at the sprig as if it was going to become sentient and attack at any moment. “Well, I need to get into the galley, so if you don’t mind-” 

Both Lance and Allura stood transfixed as Hunk leaned in and planted a wet kiss square on his fellow paladin’s mouth. Before pulling away, he murmured in a soft voice that only Lance could hear “Show, don’t tell”. He then slipped past the frozen and blushing Lance, whistling as he went.

The noise Allura made was one of dawning realization. “You could have just said it was a weird kissing tradition. Altea has plenty of those!” 

Lance found himself leaning on the doorway again, this time in genuine need of supporting himself. Both hands covered his face, and his reply was muffled but a touch manic, “1. Would you have ever have believed me? And 2. Plenty? Plenty?” 

Allura’s snort was still somehow dignified. As was the shove she used to clear Lance of the doorway before she- finally- entered the galley.

 

-

 

Later that night, after all of the others had already retired for the evening, Keith found Shiro standing just outside the galley. In the dim after hours lighting, Keith couldn’t make out his expression. He didn’t need to. The line of his shoulders sloped easily, not carrying the commanding weight he was usually seen with. No nightmares, then. Just out for a midnight snack, and stopped for- what was that in his hand?

As Keith approached, Shiro turned, silently handing over what they had both seen hanging above the galley entrance earlier that day. Lance had hastily attached the mistletoe just above the pneumatic door, and at some point it had broken free of its makeshift pinning and must have fallen to the floor. The plant had wilted some, but not much. Some leaves appeared limp but the pearlescent berries still clung where they had grown. 

Keith asked quietly, “where did he even find this? How?” 

Shiro shrugged. “You gotta admit, it’s impressive.” Keith answered with a noncommittal noise, garnering a raised eyebrow from Shiro. 

They stood for a moment longer, and Shiro was almost ready to say goodnight and part ways when Keith murmured, “I had never seen mistletoe before. Back home. Never… in person like this.” He glanced up at Shiro through his bangs. His thumb and index finger carefully worried one of the leaves. 

Shiro wasn’t sure what to say to that. ‘Thank you for sharing that with me’ seemed far too formal, even if it was true. ‘Tell me more, please’ seemed overwhelming. Shiro was unspeakably curious about his life before the garrison, but never wanted more than Keith was comfortable sharing. To share his own experiences seemed at best self-indulgent and at worst insensitive. In the end, he took a page from Keith’s book and deflected. “I know you aren’t one for metaphors, but-” Keith rolled his eyes, “there is something about this plant that I can almost identify with.” 

“Oh, Shiro, we’ve lost you. One too many poetry jams with Coran.” Keith said with a smirk.

Shiro chucked good naturedly before continuing. “No, I mean it! Here it is. On this alien ship, far from home. It’s a little banged up in spots, but the important parts are still here.” 

“Waiting to find a tree it can attach itself to? Steal all of the nutrients from its host and kill it so that it may thrive?” Keith asked flatly.

“Okay, so not a perfect metaphor.” 

The silence that followed was thoughtful. Keith handed the plant back to Shiro. “I just never understood it. I never understood why this tradition existed. How does a plant in the doorway lead to…” He trailed off, and suddenly wouldn’t look Shiro in the eye. Shiro didn’t notice, too busy inspecting the plant and the place where their fingers had just brushed. 

“I suppose some people just… need an excuse.” Before Keith could react, Shiro cleared his throat, changing the subject as he put a hand on Keith’s shoulder to guide him into the galley. He pocketed the sprig of mistletoe as he went. “Have you heard the Norse myth about it? Why we hang it up at all?” 

Keith shook his head as he walked to the counter and pushed a series of buttons. Shiro pulled a box hidden in the island’s shelving and passed it to Keith, who had somehow managed to get a pot of water boiling. Hunk may be taking to space goo in all its glory, but the first time Keith had seen a vendor on some far off planet selling something even slightly resembling tea, he managed to snag it. A person cannot live on goo alone.

Shiro took a seat at the galley’s table as Keith continued to brew the tea. “Balder was the Norse god of the summer sun, and one day he dreamt that he was going to die. His mother Frigga was desperate to come up with a plan to save him. She went around to the elements, the animals and plants, and had them- Thank you,” he grabbed the offered mug from Keith as he took a seat across the table. 

Keith watched in disgust as he seasoned the tea with space goo. “What did she do?” He asked, almost desperately. Anything to get Shiro back on track and stop defiling the tea. “What did Frigga do to the, the elements?” 

“Mmm-” Shiro finished one tainted swallow, unaware of Keith’s growing nausea. “She went to all of the plants and animals and made them promise not to hurt Balder.” 

“And that…worked.”

“Sure. For a while.” 

“You make that sound so ominous,” Keith said as he set his mug down, and put his chin in his hand. “What’s the catch?” 

Shiro chuckled, looking into his own mug. “At first, there didn’t seem to be one. Balder became invincible. The other gods and goddesses would throw things at him to honor his invincibility. Stones, rocks, anything the could find, but because of the oath, Balder remained unharmed.” 

“Sounds useful,” Keith said quietly, averting his gaze from Shiro’s arm. The scar across his face was not much better. His eyes, at least, were soft. Apologetic, even. 

“For a while, at least. But Loki, the trickster god, saw the opportunity for mischief. He discovered the one thing that had not sworn the oath. The reason why changes, depending on who is telling the story. Some versions say it is because mistletoe, having no roots of its own, was not affected by Frigga’s request.” 

There was a thoughtful noise from Keith at that. A rootless plant, beholden to nothing, not even the requests of a goddess? Now that was something. 

“Other versions say that Frigga either forgot or didn’t presume to ask because mistletoe is a small plant, incapable of doing harm. Which, anyone who has ever seen mistletoe take out a tree knows otherwise, but in terms of the narrative? I like it.” 

Keith bit back a reply. You would, he wanted to say. Seemingly innocent, capable of bringing destruction. Your soft spot.

 

What Shiro didn’t say, couldn’t say unprompted, rang out in his mind as well. It’s you! Don’t you see? It is you all over.

Instead, he continued the story. “Loki fashioned an arrow made from mistletoe. He approached Hodr, Balder’s brother, a god who was not participating in the festivities because he was blind. Loki tricked him into using the arrow, saying that he should honor Balder’s invincibility and that Loki would guide the blind man’s aim. And so, he did. With one shot, Balder died.”

Keith likes to pretend he has no feelings, but Shiro knows better. He knows that Keith feels things very deeply. 

He may wish to be someone who feels nothing in the face of an ancient story. The truth of the matter is that right now, in the galley of a spaceship on the other side of the universe, Keith is hearing a poorly told version of a story that has survived generations of poorly told renditions. Myths survive because there is something they say about the human experience that sticks in the memory. The tale will outlast the initial circumstance. It will be reshaped to fit the purpose of a new circumstance. It will adapt to the changing environment as well as the plant that lay crumpled in Shiro’s pocket. Keith, though he tries to shield himself from that kind of human connection, is unable to protect himself from the hand of history reaching out. And when it is Shiro telling the story? Well, he was a goner from day one where that boy is concerned.

Shiro waits patiently for Keith to work through… whatever revelation he is currently working through. When the question comes, Shiro is almost relieved by the utter simplicity of it.

“Why? Why do we kiss under it? Under a plant that turned a man into his brother’s murderer?” 

Shiro so badly wants to reach out, to calm the thoughts he can practically hear racing through Keith’s head. But Shiro has been learning a few things over the course of his time as a paladin. One being that a person must fight their own battles. The second being that sometimes context is all that is required to set things right. He does what he considers to be the thing he is best at: he carries on. 

“After Balder died, Frigga’s tears turned the berries of the plant white. There are some versions,” he continued hopefully, watching Keith’s face for any sort of smile, “Where Balder comes back to life and Frigga is so grateful to have him back that she promises to kiss anyone who passes underneath the plant.” 

Keith looked contemplative, which was an improvement from the stormy expression worn moments before. But he could see that the smile on Shiro’s face didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s not the only version though, is it? That’s not even your favorite version.” 

Shiro tried not to look guilty as he finished his tea. But Keith gestured that he should continue, so on he went. “No, it isn’t. The other versions have mistletoe becoming a symbol of peace because Frigga proclaimed that it shouldn’t be punished for its role in the tragedy. I think there is something to that. In being responsible for death, in having played a key part in causing tragedy, and saying no more. You won’t be the cause of anymore heartache. I release you from it, and more than that, you are now going to be responsible for something else entirely, something lovely and full of promise-” Shiro stumbled over his words. Too much, that’s a little too revealing, not yet. Deflect. “Did you know!” Loud voice, too loud, but Keith’s smiling now, so at least there is that. Try again, “Did you know, that strangers meeting in the woods were said to remove their weapons when passing under mistletoe?” 

“Really?”

“Who knows?” Shiro shrugged and collected the mugs, placed them in the spaceship version of the dishwasher. “But it sounds nice, doesn’t it?” 

Keith chuckled at that, walking with him back to the doorway. They stopped on the other side of the pneumatic doors, and Keith spoke once more.

“I suppose.... strangers meeting under a symbol of peace, choosing to cross paths while utterly defenseless. Trusting the other not harm them.” Shiro couldn’t read his look, but he could feel it right down to his toes. “That sounds more like kissing, to me. More than murder.” 

Very carefully, Shiro brought the mistletoe out of his pocket. There is a time for stories. But Shiro knew all too well that there is also a time for action. With this in mind, he pinned the mistletoe above their heads.

Before the familiar doubts krept in, before he could verify that he hadn’t horribly misread the situation, he felt two hands. One gripping the collar of his shirt with intent. The other reaching up, gently ghosting over his clavicle to find purchase on his jaw. Shiro’s own hand brushed Keith’s bangs away, and the expression he found was breathtaking.

They stood like that for a moment, two travelers meeting under mistletoe, before leaning in and closing the gap. The kiss is easy and sweet, unlike anything either had imagined. No battle raged around them, no declarations followed by passionate acts of violence. Instead, they met in the middle. Both had been laid bare in the face of the unspoken emotion, and when it became too much, it manifested in soft and searching lips.

**Author's Note:**

> All information regarding the historical traditions of hanging mistletoe was gathered via google.   
> (I have a degree, I just refuse to use it)


End file.
